


Thou Shalt Not

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, OCD, Panic Attacks, Religious Guilt, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4348340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The side-effects of Sam's medication are making it difficult for him to concentrate in school, and his grades are suffering for it. So he decides to stop taking his medicine and stop going to therapy and use his OCD to his advantage. Naturally, it backfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Shalt Not

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from rosworms: "pre series fic where sam stops taking his meds and doing his preventative therapies for his OCD because he thinks he can try to use it for his own benefit with school? studying the same materials over and over, practicing the same things over and over. but it backfires on him and dean has to break sam of his rituals and get him back on track?"
> 
> Note: I am not a doctor, and I have not been diagnosed with OCD. I did a bit of research for this fic -- mostly for common obsessions, compulsions, and medications -- but if I’ve gotten anything glaringly wrong or written anything offensive, please let me know.
> 
> For this fic, I gave Sam obsessions with pleasing God, following the Ten Commandments, and avoiding “unsafe” numbers (in this case, 6 and 12 are “safe”).
> 
> This is an AU in the sense that Sam has OCD and Dean knows about Sam’s religiousness. Other than that, this is canonverse.

The doctor said the pills were working. Sam was successfully resisting compulsions, thanks partially to weekly meetings with a social worker and partially to the decreasing frequency of intrusive thoughts. All in all, the doctor said, Sam’s had more success with Anafranil than she expected.

It doesn’t feel like success to Sam, but he doesn’t say as much. The medicine makes him drowsy. It feels like he’s always tired and can never focus, and his schoolwork is suffering for it. And yeah, he’s not as obsessed with praying or counting or anything, but he still prays every night before bed. He still does things in multiples of twelve if he can (six if he can’t, but as good as six is, it’s not nearly as good as twelve). It doesn’t feel like the trade-off is worth it.

The first time Sam skips a pill, his stomach is in knots. He locks himself in his room, squeezes his eyes shut, and whispers the Ten Commandments to himself until he’s sure he hasn’t broken any of them. He stumbles a little on the ninth -- “Thou shalt not bear f-false . . . false witness against thy neighbour.” -- but decides that he hasn’t disobeyed it unless Dean specifically asks if he’s taken his medicine today. And Dean never asks. Dean trusts him.

Dean trusts Sam to make his appointments too, and Sam’s glad for that because, the first time he skips one, he ends up curled up on the ground on the way home, muttering under his breath. He gets more than a few weird looks before he manages to pick himself up and walk the rest of the way home.

It takes him so much longer to do homework now, which is saying something because the Anafranil made it a lot harder to get it done. Sam spends hours on his homework, and math is the worst. He has to decide which questions to omit or add, because if it’s not a multiple of twelve, he won’t do it. If he makes one mistake, no matter how small, no matter how far into the set of problems, he throws the entire page out.

But his grades are improving. He’s getting As on all of his assignments (if not hundreds), and has all As on his progress report. The relief he feels from seeing that neat row of As makes everything feel worth it.

Dean’s impressed. Of course he is. He’s so proud of Sam for overcoming his illness and keeping his grades up, and Sam is positively radiant from the praise. Dean takes him out for ice cream and doesn’t notice that Sam only eats his cone in kitten licks in sets of a dozen.

~~~~~

Sam breezes through his world history final. He remembers all the answers, he’s awake and alert, and this is his last final. Maybe he can start going to his appointments and taking his medicine over the break. Maybe, given enough time, he can teach himself to function just as well with the side effects.

And if he can’t, he can try again over summer break. There’s no way he’s going to let his grades suffer now that he’s in high school, now that how he performs is reflected on college applications. He’ll go on and off as needed.

Sam’s smiling a little to himself throughout the test. This is easy. He’s got it all figured out. So what if his leg is jiggling and he stops to say a prayer every twelve questions? It’s worth it to be the last one to turn in a test when he knows he’s aced --

Sam turns the last page, and the smile is completely wiped off his face. He feels cold, feels like he can’t breathe.

There are only thirty-five questions.

He can’t answer thirty-five questions. He just can’t. But he’d need to leave eleven blank to reach a multiple of twelve, or five for a multiple of six, and that is not an option. He knows the answers. He can’t fail.

But thirty-five is bad. It’s so close to safe and yet so far, and he can’t make himself -- he won’t --

His breath is coming faster.

What are his options? Skip five questions and get a B, or stop on a bad number? Those aren’t options. He can’t breathe, and those aren’t options. Thirty-five isn’t safe -- someone’s talking to him -- a teacher he thinks, but he can’t hear her -- thirty-five isn’t safe and Bs aren’t safe and something horrible is going to happen to him or --

or Dean.

Sam feels like he’s going to throw up or pass out. “Thou shalt have no other gods before Me,” he mumbles, or maybe screams. “Thou shalt not make idols thou shalt not take the name of the Lord your God in vain remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy honourthymotheradthyfatherthoushaltnotkill -- “

There it is. There it is. God. There’s another one. They’re all going to die. They’re going to die, and it will be all Sam’s fault --

“Sammy!”

Dean’s with him. No, Dean needs to leave, needs to find somewhere safe or he’s gonna --

Dean grabs Sam’s hand and presses it hard over his own chest. Sam can feel Dean’s pulse, and he knows Dean’s feeling for Sam’s with his hand on his chest. Sam still can’t breathe, but he tries to focus. He counts heartbeats.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean presses softly, but his concern is obvious.

Sam doesn’t answer until he counts to twenty-four. “B-broke -- “

“Yeah, your teacher told me. Which one did you break?”

Sam’s breathing a little easier, but it’s all relative. He can’t stop hiccuping. “S-six. Thou-ou shalt not k-k-kill.” He swallows and tries to keep going. “Y-you -- you need t-to -- “

“I’m not dead, Sammy. You didn’t break the rules. Feel that?” Dean presses Sam’s hand harder to his heart. “I’m alive. I’m healthy.”

Sam shakes his head, because he’s thinking clearer now, and he knows God is going to strike them down any second.

“You haven’t killed anyone,” Dean insists. “God isn’t angry, Sammy.”

“Nine,” Sam tries again. “Thou shalt no-ot bear false w-witness -- “

“Against thy neighbour,” Dean recites with Sam. “What lies have you been telling?”

“I haven’t been taking my medicine,” Sam admits sheepishly. “I’ve been sk-skipping appointments.”

“Yeah, Sammy, I know. Well, I guessed. But you never lied, okay? I’m not happy that you stopped, but you never lied to me about it. We’re not going to die. God isn’t angry.”

Sam sighs. “Say that again.”

“God is not angry.”

“Again.”

Sam makes Dean say it three more times, and Dean says it another six after that, even though Sam didn’t ask.

Sam takes deep, shaky breaths, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. He’s so tired. Usually, he sleeps after panic attacks, but he can’t this time. Maybe he’ll just rest here for a bit.

“Does this happen a lot?” a female voice asks, and Sam vaguely recognises it as his teacher. He’s a little too tired to be embarrassed, but he does wonder how long she’s been there. “No one told me -- “

“It’s not supposed to happen at all,” Dean answers. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I thought it had something to do with the exam, like maybe it was too difficult. But I looked through it real quick, and it looks like he got everything right.”

“Let me see.” Dean shifts, and Sam grumbles. “Oh. I see. Would you mind writing one more question?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, the kid just had a panic attack in the middle of your class, and one more question will make him feel better. Just . . . think of something? Please?”

There’s silence, and the sound of paper rustling, and then Dean’s urging him to sit up and handing him his test. Sam eyes it warily, but Dean looks sure.

Sam’s exhausted, but he’s not stupid. He knows what just happened. His teacher encourages him to finish the test, and when Sam flips to the last page, he sees at the bottom, written in pen, “36.  What year was the Battle of Hastings?”

Sam feels relief wash through him. He honestly didn’t expect it to work, but he easily circles “A.  1066.”

Dean smiles. “You’re okay, kid.”

Sam disagrees, but he smiles back anyway.


End file.
